


This Is What You Do (To Me)

by verushka70



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Come Eating, M/M, Masturbation, Self-Denial, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-16
Updated: 2016-04-16
Packaged: 2018-06-02 15:19:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6571324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verushka70/pseuds/verushka70
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek's surprise visits usually involve shaking Stiles down for research. Anything else is an afterthought (chain-yanking). Stiles is fed up with it. So when he finds Derek in his room again, he shows him the door. Or, rather, window. At least, that was the plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Is What You Do (To Me)

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta-ed, all mistakes mine.

Exhausted from lacrosse practice, Stiles climbs the stairs up to his room slowly, his bookbag feeling like a ton of bricks. Walking down the hall to his room, he sees his bedroom door shut. Did he leave it like that this morning? He isn't sure but he doesn't think so, and the last time this happened...

In hurrying to his room, Stiles almost trips and bangs into the door, opening it wide.

There, in Stiles' desk chair, thumbing through his phone, is Derek in all his tightly clothed mystery and glory. He looks up, startled, as Stiles bursts through the door.

Stiles' book bag hits the floor about the same time he kicks the door shut behind him. A millisecond later, he straddles Derek's lap, his hands cupping Derek's jaw, pressing their mouths together. The entire boring, annoying day vanishes when Derek's lips part and let Stiles' tongue in. A triumphant joy surges through him when he hears Derek's phone hit the carpet and Derek just _relaxes_ under him, leans back and lets Stiles kiss him. 

Their tongues touch and Derek's arms wrap around Stiles, his hands sliding up Stiles' back and then down to his hips. Stiles' mouth is greedy and needy and he swiftly hardens, his jeans suddenly constrictive. The smell of Derek's leather is Pavlovian. When he's close to Derek, it fills Stiles' head with exquisitely filthy thoughts. Their kissing is loud and maybe it's sloppy and hungry, but Stiles doesn't care because Derek's hands grip his hips hard as iron and tight enough to bruise, like he doesn't realize he's doing it and can't help it. 

Derek's mouth works under Stiles', ardent and tender and strong, kissing Stiles back. His tongue follows Stiles' back into Stiles' mouth, so Stiles holds Derek's head, holds him there for _more_. He can't get enough of Derek's mouth or his hands on him, can't stop thrusting his denim-bound erection against Derek's lower belly and the edge of his leather jacket, can't stop grinding his taint down on Derek's erection, even though there's not enough pressure or friction through both their jackets and jeans--

Derek jerks his head back so hard, the chair moves a couple of inches.

"Slow down," he mutters.

He looks up at Stiles and pushes him off his erection and closer to his knees. But his expression is calm, almost sweet: mouth a little slack, partly open from kissing, the corners of his lips slightly turned up. His brow is smooth and un-furrowed, eyes wide, pupils dilated. And even though he pushed Stiles away a bit, Stiles felt how hard he was.

"Hey," Stiles murmurs. He presses his face into Derek's neck and wraps his arms around Derek tight.

"Um, hi," Derek murmurs, his mouth against Stiles' shoulder. 

"God, I didn't know how bad I needed that 'til it happened," Stiles breathes into Derek's neck.

Derek doesn't say anything but his arms tighten around Stiles.

"I just forgot my whole day," Stiles says, muffled in Derek's neck. "You have a slate-wiping effect."

"Yeah?" Derek asks softly.

It is so bizarrely humble and sweet that Derek questions his effect, like he doesn't know what he does to Stiles. Maybe he doesn't... Or maybe he needs the validation? Either way, Stiles can hardly stand it. But if this is how he learns more of the unguarded Derek, clearly more surprise visits and attacks of affection are needed.

" _Yes_ ," Stiles sighs deeply. 

Derek's arms tighten around him further in response. They sit there for a moment, Stiles straddling Derek's warm, strong thighs, Derek a firm but yielding mass of muscle under him. Stiles could get used to this. But it never lasts.

Then Derek mutters, "Um." 

He shifts uncomfortably beneath Stiles and the moment is over.

"So what are you doing here?" Stiles sighs and climbs off Derek's lap. 

Right in front of Derek's face, he reaches into his jeans and adjusts his hard cock. Derek averts his eyes as he speaks. 

"I was just wondering if you made any progress on research on Claiming," he says.

"Oh, that," Stiles says, disappointed. "No, not really. Though I haven't really been trying lately," he admits. "I thought the temporary lull in evil would give me a chance to catch up on homework," he explains.

"Oh." Derek looks uncertainly up at him. "Okay."

"Anything else?" Stiles asks hopefully.

Derek looks a little startled. "No, I, uh--"

"Well, if that's all..." Stiles says, gesturing at the open window.

"I -- what?" Derek looks confused. 

Stiles permits himself a moment of perverse joy that he is no longer the only confused one.

"Better be on your way," Stiles continues. "I mean, isn't that why you came? To get me all hot and bothered, then ask me how I can be of use to you?" He looks at an imaginary watch. "Since I can't, next on your agenda would be leaving. Right?" 

He doesn't know why he's saying this, except that the possibility that Derek only came over for research has crushed his excitement at seeing -- and touching, and _kissing_ \-- Derek again.

"Stiles, I..." Derek looks truly baffled and a little chagrined. "Is that what you think? That's the only reason I come here?"

"Chain yanking, I think they call it," Stiles nods. 

"I--"

"Blue balls is another term," Stiles adds sharply.

Derek's brows come angrily together. "Look--"

"That is," Stiles adds, "unless you came here for some other reason." He chews his bottom lip nervously, hopefully.

Color rises in Derek's cheeks and Stiles' heart leaps. 

"Oh," Stiles breathes. He slides right back onto Derek's lap before Derek can stop him. "You _did_ , didn't you," his lips murmur into Derek's.

The only answer is Derek's lips moving under his own, and just like that, all is forgiven. The tip of Derek's tongue tentatively enters his mouth, and Stiles sucks it in hard. He unzips Derek's jacket, pushing it down over his shoulders. Derek almost tips Stiles onto the floor as he quickly leans forward to shrug out of his jacket. Stiles tears off his hoody, too. 

Derek's big hands slide up Stiles' arms to his shoulders, then stroke down his back to his hips. He drags Stiles closer onto his lap, and Stiles feels the hardness under the fly of Derek's jeans.

Stiles' flagging erection pumps back into full hardness again as their kiss gets wetter. He grabs Derek's hands and slides them from their mad clutch on his hips down to cup his ass. Still kissing him madly, he releases them. They hesitate a moment, lightly resting on his butt cheeks...

...and then grab them hard. Derek gropes and massages Stiles' ass and his tongue continues to invade Stiles' mouth. Stiles sucks on it, already rocking his constricted hard-on against Derek's stomach. He rubs up against Derek, breathing hard through his nostrils, then drags his mouth sideways to the rough stubble of Derek's cheek. 

"Touch me," Stiles whispers. " _Please_ touch me," he begs before he presses teeth into Derek's neck.

Derek's hands grip his ass. 

"Touch yourself," he growls into Stiles' collarbone, his breath hot. 

Stiles squeezes his eyes shut, baring his neck to Derek's teeth. He peels his hands from their leverage on Derek's big shoulders, and puts them to work unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans. Derek licks his neck, then pulls back and lets go of Stiles just long enough to swiftly tear his own shirt off over his head. Then he grabs Stiles' ass and thrusts up against Stiles' taint. 

When Stiles opens his pants and shoves his briefs down, Derek drags his mouth from Stiles' neck and abruptly stops moving. His hands grip Stiles' ass so hard there will be bruises later. Stiles looks down at the suddenly still Derek, and feels the grip on his ass soften.

Derek looks down at Stiles' exposed cock. He slides a hand inside Stiles' shirt and up over the hot skin of Stiles' stomach and chest, all while staring at Stiles' cock. Stiles' trembling hands take his own shirt off, the air cool on his feverish skin. His hands go to Derek's shoulders. He rocks on Derek once, pressing his naked cock against Derek's warm belly, against the rough waistband of Derek's jeans, where it cuts across his abs. Derek's gaze slides from Stiles' cock up his body until he meets Stiles' eyes. His hands grab Stiles' ass again.

"Jack yourself off," he orders Stiles hoarsely, his eyes going red.

Stiles obeys, one hand jacking himself frantically, the other in a death grip on Derek's shoulder. He can't tear his gaze from Derek's until Derek slides one hand from Stiles' ass, up his back, to the nape of his neck and brings his mouth down for a rough kiss. He closes his eyes as Derek's mouth surges against his own. Derek sucks Stiles' tongue into his mouth and, his other hand still on Stiles' left butt cheek, rhythmically and forcefully thrusts up behind Stiles' balls. 

The chair they're in begins to move, banging into the desk. Stiles wonders briefly, if they'll break it. But it's a dim, far away concern compared to the feel of Derek's bruising fingers kneading his ass, his hard thrusts up into Stiles' taint, Derek sucking on his tongue. 

Stiles jacks off faster, his stomach fluttering with a combination of fiery arousal at their strange, hot connection and anxious vulnerability at showing Derek how much he needs this, how much Derek _affects_ him. Humming with need, his strokes grow shorter and more abbreviated though no less fierce in the tight space between them. It's unbearably thrilling, this exhibitionism for Derek and Derek alone. He jacks off harder, the tip of his cock now wet with pre-come, the slappy sounds, his helpless grunts and pants muffled in their sloppy, jerky kiss -- all of it _with_ Derek, _for_ Derek, it's _all about_ Derek. _This_ is what you do to me, he wants to tell Derek. But he only breathes hard through his nose. 

Suddenly, sweetly, Derek lets him have his tongue back and the intensity of their kiss lessens so he can speak.

"Come for me," Derek whispers into his lips. "Now." 

It is not an order. It is a plea, a provocation. It gets under Stiles' skin and inside his head and makes a mess of him. His lips tremble against Derek's and he comes, an iron hand on his ass holding him down hard on Derek's erection while the tight grip on the nape of his neck keeps their mouths together. 

He spatters both their stomachs and chests with hot white spurts, panting and groaning helplessly into Derek's lips. When he finally stops spurting and jerking, Stiles melts bonelessly down on Derek, still gripping his softening cock loosely. 

But then Derek grabs his ass even tighter with both hands and stands up. He picks Stiles up as he stands, straddled around his hips. Stiles grabs his shoulders and Derek takes a few steps, carries Stiles to the bed. He throws Stiles down on it and Stiles bounces on the mattress, looking up at Derek, panting, a little bewildered. 

Derek stands over him for a brief second and his red-eyed gaze rakes over Stiles before he bends to snatch his shirt off the floor. He balls it up and swipes it down his chest and stomach, wiping off Stiles' come. Then he tosses the shirt down. 

Their eyes meet again, but Derek's aren't red anymore. He climbs onto the bed and onto Stiles and bends his head to lick Stiles' semen off his chest and stomach. Stiles shivers under Derek's tongue, feeling cool air where Derek's saliva evaporates until the heat of Derek's body takes over the small space between them. As Derek licks up Stiles' chest, he pauses to slowly kiss and suck each of Stiles' nipples, making Stiles arch up involuntarily.

After he licks off all of Stiles' come, he nuzzles Stiles' jaw for a moment before he gives him a brief kiss. Then he settles heavily on Stiles. He slides his arms around Stiles and rests his cheek on Stiles' chest in a way that makes Stiles swallow hard. 

Stiles wraps his arms around Derek's shoulders and lets his legs slide apart so Derek lies between them. They lie there for a while, feeling each other's chests heave and hearts pound until their breathing finally synchs.

"Did you...?" Stiles whispers, pressing his lips into Derek's hairline. 

"No," Derek murmurs, pleasantly heavy on top of him. His voice is strangely dreamy, a deep vibration against Stiles' chest.

"Oh," Stiles sighs into Derek's hair. He pauses. "Should I...?"

"No," Derek replies quietly. "It's fine."

Stiles is vaguely surprised. "Yeah?" he asks quietly.

"Yes," Derek replies. "Just..." He hesitates. When he speaks again, his voice is quieter. "Can we just stay like this for a while?" 

"Yeah, sure," Stiles replies, a little stunned.

Derek's cheek presses harder against his chest, his unmoving mass a warm, welcome weight.

**Author's Note:**

> Excerpt from a much longer WIP sequel to [The Devil You Know](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4695836), where Derek takes a huge step back from the intimacy of That Night, despite intimating that it could be repeated, because Stiles is underage.


End file.
